Sleepless in Selsey
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: Harry has shut himself and his children away from the wizarding world and although he claims to be perfectly happy, his son Albus thinks otherwise and begins a plot to help his father find love again.
1. Chapter 1

Yes, this fic is totally based on Sleepless in Seattle, although I altered it quite heavily to force it into the magical world and my own amusement. It's nearly epilogue-compliant, except that a certain person won't make it to appear on Platform 9 3/4 for Albus' first year at Hogwarts._  
_

_22 December, 2016_

Harry scowled and wondered if using a Cleaning Charm would help or hinder his efforts to coax loose the remnants of the Yorkshire pudding that stubbornly clung to the edges of the metal dish. _Probably hinder_, he decided, knowing that he was pants at Cleaning Charms and the roasting tin would be lucky to survive such an attempt.

The puddings had turned out surprisingly tasty, but the mess left behind had been daunting. A bit of concrete-like dough resisted all of his scrubbing efforts and he considered Vanishing the entire damned tin and buying a new one.

He pictured Hermione clucking her tongue at him and murmuring, "Wasteful." He sighed heavily and kept scrubbing.

"…the holidays can be a lonely time for people, despite being surrounded by friends and family." The voice issued from the radio on the counter. The Wizarding Wireless Network had expanded after the invention of wizaphones. Talk shows and advice networks warred with music and prize-of-the-hour stations. The words caught Harry's attention and his hands stilled. "If you are one of those, we would love for you to call in and talk to us. We want you to know that you are not alone and that we care about you here at WW-Ten."

Harry wrinkled his nose and resumed scrubbing. Sure, they cared. They cared about their ratings and the number of advertisers they could suck in. The announcer had a kindly, almost sultry voice, but Harry doubted she knew anything about true loneliness.

He sighed and set the stubborn tin aside. He would deal with it later. What he wanted now was to sprawl on his sofa and stare at the fairy lights on the Christmas tree, and indulge in a little bit of self-pity and a lot of alcohol.

The radio announcer began talking to a man from Newbury who was alone for the holidays because his girlfriend had run off with his best friend. Radio gold.

Harry used his wand to fill the roasting tin with water and then heated it to near-boiling. It could soak overnight and would hopefully not be so bloody difficult to clean in the morning. He dried the plates with a spell and stacked them in the cupboard. It was three days before Christmas and Harry was home alone with Albus. James and Lily had gone to the Weasleys' to spend time with their cousins, but Albus had little in common with either Rose or Hugo, and preferred to stay with Harry. It worried him, sometimes, that his youngest son was such a loner.

"You should hang about with other friends," a caller advised the man from Newbury, "and go to a New Year's Eve party. Meet someone new."

"That is good advice," the sultry-voiced announcer said, "and try not to dwell on the infidelity of your former friend and lover. Not all people are inconsiderate and horrible, so try to look for the good in those you meet and keep your past from colouring your future relationships."

Harry made a huffing sound. Advice was easy to give, but not so simple to take. "Yes, Bob," he muttered, "go on out and find yourself someone new right away. Bloody ridiculous."

"Good luck, Bob," she said, "and Happy Holidays. Our next caller is someone rather special. Hello, James from Selsey. How are you this evening?"

Harry started for a moment and then shook his head. It couldn't be.

"Fine."

"And how old are you, James?"

"Almost eleven."

The tension Harry had been nearly unaware of dissipated. His James was nearly thirteen; he would never claim to be younger than he was, not even on threat of death.

"Almost eleven. You are close to adulthood, James. You sound very grown-up. Why did you call in tonight?"

"To increase your ratings," Harry muttered and put the utensils away.

"Well, you said the holidays can be lonely and I think my dad is really lonely, especially right now, so I called to see if you know what I can do. I hate that he's sad all the time."

Harry shut the door quietly, heart clenching despite his cynical desire to mumble, "Child exploitation."

"And why is your father sad all the time? Do you know?"

"It's because my mum died."

Harry drew in a sharp breath.

"I am sorry to hear that, James. Was it recent?"

"About three years ago."

_Oh god_, Harry thought as a horrible realisation stole through him. Selsey, and _James_.

"Three years? And he is still sad?"

"Yeah, he might be sad because they fought a lot before she… before she died. I think maybe he thinks it was his fault, or that he could have done something to save her. Or maybe even that he wishes he could say he was sorry again."

"Sorry for what, James?"

"I guess mostly that he wasn't a good husband. Or maybe because he fancied men. You know, like maybe he wanted a husband instead of a wife. I heard them fight about it once."

"_Fuck_," Harry murmured. "Albus." He fled the kitchen, looking for his son. The living room was empty, so Harry took the stairs two at a time. It was too much to hope that there was another ten-year-old boy living in Selsey whose mother had died, and who had witnessed his parents arguing over the possibility of his father being gay.

He flung open the door to Al's room. Wide green eyes met Harry's and Albus mumbled into the wizaphone, "Um… I have to go."

"Wait, James!" The announcer's voice issued from the portable radio on Al's dressing table.

Harry took the wizaphone from Albus with a look that promised retribution. He spoke into the mouthpiece. "I'm sorry, but _James_ is up past his bedtime and this conversation is over. Good evening."

"Is this James' father?"

"Yes, and if you don't mind I would like to get back to wallowing in sadness."

Albus picked up one of Lily's stuffed animals and hid his face behind it while Harry tried to pretend his flippant words weren't true. Maybe he really was fucked up.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Draco rolled his eyes and sent an absent hex at a fairy, who squeaked and brightened, wings flapping as she shone for all she was worth. The wireless was disgorging a maudlin sob story about some motherless boy with a sad father.

"Scorpius, must we?" Draco asked.

"Shush, I am listening to this," Scorpius said with a quelling look. Draco's eyes narrowed with annoyance, even though he recognised where Scorpius had got such a look—Draco saw it frequently in his own mirror.

About to inform Scorpius that one did not _shush_ one's father, Draco's attention was snared by the words, "…or maybe because he fancied men." His censure turned into a laugh.

"Salazar, no wonder he's sad, the poor man."

"Father, please."

Draco shook his head, listening with half an ear until a resonant voice issued through the radio and he realised the boy had been caught airing his father's dirty laundry on public radio. "Someone is in trouble."

_Yes, and if you don't mind I would like to get back to wallowing in sadness_. The voice was deep and tantalisingly familiar. Was the man someone Draco knew? He began to sift through his friends and acquaintances. Did any of them have children named James?

"How old is that child?" Draco asked.

"My age," Scorpius replied. "I hope his father isn't too hard on him. He was only trying to help."

"…accept our condolences on your loss, sir. Please know that I am only here to assist you however possible." The woman's voice was soothing and contained a quality that made her seem trustworthy. Draco wondered if a spell had been invented that could travel upon radio waves.

"I'm pretty sure you're only trying to increase your ratings, but thanks," the man said. Draco reluctantly admitted a grudging admiration.

"How did it happen? Your wife, I mean?"

Draco nearly gasped at the temerity of the woman. He half-expected an angry response, which would have fed right into the hands of the radio drama-mongers. After a shocked silence, the man responded, "It was sudden. An illness no one saw coming and no one knew how to combat. One day she was fine and the next she was gone."

Draco's hands clenched. He wished the man had simply hung up. It was nearly Christmas, for Salazar's sake. No one wanted to listen to this depressing nonsense.

"That's dreadful," the announcer said. "And you… loved her?"

"Of course I loved her."

"Even though…?"

The man's response was clipped and likely issued through clenched teeth. "Yes, _even though_. I am attracted to both men and women, although it is really no business of anyone's outside of this house." Draco could picture a glare sent at the man's son. "My wife was insecure about it before she died, but it had nothing to do with how I felt about her. I miss her. Very much."

"Thank you, sir, for having the patience and the charity to explain rather than hang up on me, as you likely wish you had done. It is apparent, to your son, at least, that you are still grieving, although three years is a long time. Do you think that you will ever love again?"

"I… no."

"No?"

"I have no interest in dating, nor in trying to replace my wife. My only concern now is to provide the best possible life for my kids."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but if your son is worried enough about you to call in to a radio show and discuss the fact that you are always sad… Perhaps causing your children to worry about you is counter-productive to your intention."

There was a long silence and Draco thought the man had finally hung up on her. His eyes met Scorpius', to find his son's brow wrinkled and a concerned look upon his face. And then the man spoke again. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe you're right. Goodnight."

A soft click ended the conversation and the announcer cleared her throat. "Goodnight, sir. We wish you well, James, and hope that you and your father find the happiness you both deserve. And now a word from Circe's Smile, the potion that will keep your teeth white and your smile bright."

Scorpius let out a breath. "You should find him."

Draco turned off the radio with a flick of his wand. Sentimental hogwash. "Find who?"

"That man. James' father. He sounds nice."

Draco gave Scorpius a penetrating stare. "Scorpius. I am with _William_."

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "William is boring. I was talking to Aunt Pansy—"

"And that is your first mistake," Draco said as he got to his feet. "Have I not told you never to speak to that woman?"

"I speak to her all the time!"

"And thereby disobeying my excellent advice. Don't let it happen again. Now, off to bed with you."

"But, Father, aren't you curious? He sounded so terribly sad. And James is _my age_."

"Bed," Draco ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

Scorpius huffed a long-suffering sigh, but he got to his feet and shuffled towards the door. "Goodnight. Father."

"Goodnight, Scorpius," Draco said and shook his head. Scorpius needed to get over his dislike of William. After all, it was only a matter of time before they formally bonded. William had hinted about it often enough recently.

Draco freed the fairies from glowing and went to bed.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Harry sank down on Al's bed and stared into the darkness. After long minutes, a small voice asked, "Are you angry at me?"

Harry looked over his shoulder at Albus, who clutched the furry toy to his chest as if he were much younger than the "nearly grown-up" ten-year-old he was. Harry reached out and ruffled Al's hair.

"No. I'm not angry. I guess I just never realised how much my being sad affected you."

"You're not always sad," Albus said in his peacekeeping tone. He had always been the calm one, the mediator between his fiery brother and sister, and the one who defused angry situations.

"But I'm sad often enough that it's a problem."

"It's not a problem! I just thought maybe there was something I could do. To help."

Harry dropped an arm over Al's shoulders and pulled him closer. "You did help. You gave me something to think about and I promise that I'll try not to think about the past so much. Your mum was… really special. But I don't think she would want me moping around all the time and bringing you guys down."

Albus poked him in the ribs. "She would probably give you a hex."

Harry tickled him under the arms. "She probably would," he agreed as Albus squealed and squirmed away from his fingers.

"Dad! Stoppit! 'M not ticklish!"

"Obviously not," Harry said and made a claw with his fingers. He extended it towards Albus, who shrieked and scrambled away, laughing. Harry chuckled and withdrew his hand. "Goodnight, Albus."

"Goodnight, Dad."

~~*~~O~~*~~

_23 December, 2016_

Scorpius Malfoy was a man with a mission. He hadn't known what that mission was until late last night when everything had suddenly become crystal clear. For months, Scorpius had been discontented and restless. The cause was obvious, of course, because Scorpius was not a stupid boy and he knew very well the origin of the dark cloud hovering over Malfoy Manor and tainting everything he knew. What he hadn't known was what to do about it.

Not until a boy's voice had come through the radio with the answer to all of his problems.

Scorpius had a mission: to get his father a new boyfriend.

"Aunt Pansy?" he asked as casually as possible.

"Hmmm?" Good; she was distracted, reading some article in the _Prophet_.

"If someone called in to a radio station and you wanted to write them a letter, how would you find them?"

Aunt Pansy looked up from the newspaper. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Scorpius sighed. She did not yet have that sharp-eyed "what are you up to" stare that he dreaded, but if he wasn't careful it would turn into that and his plan would be suspect.

"Well, I was listening to the radio and this boy called in asking a question about the new Weatherby Windstorm Series 5000 broom and the announcer was completely wrong in what she told him." Scorpius resisted the urge to elaborate; already he was pushing the limits of lying. _Keep it simple_, was the adage to remember. Ironically, Aunt Pansy was the one who had taught him that rule. "Anyway, I wanted to write to the boy and explain that they were wrong and answer his questions. Maybe get a new friend." Scorpius winced at the last; he hadn't meant to say it and definitely had not intended to sound so wistful. To his surprise, it provoked a positive reaction.

Aunt Pansy's features, which had glazed over slightly at his mention of broom specifications, softened into the "oh-you-poor-boy" look with which Scorpius had an extensive familiarity. "I suppose you could write to the radio station," she said. "They track the wizaphone numbers of everyone who calls in as a standard practice. They might be able to call the boy back and get his address. They probably wouldn't give it to you, but they might forward a letter if you sent it to the station."

Scorpius nodded. "Then I will try that. Thank you."

She gave him the pitying look for a moment longer and then smiled and returned her attention to the paper. Scorpius pretended to read the book in his lap, but he was mentally composing a letter to the man from the radio, the man with the kindly voice.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Chimes sounded throughout the house. Albus lifted his head and listened to see if his father would answer. The chimes sounded a second time and Albus grumbled to himself. Of course the bloody phone only rang when his hands were full.

"Answer it, Dad," he muttered and tried to get the paper to stay in place while tearing off a piece of spellotape. Honestly, wrapping packages would be so much easier if he could use magic. Stupid bloody underaged magic statute thing.

After the third chime, Albus abandoned his package with a groan of annoyance. It could be Aunt Hermione calling, and if one of them didn't answer she would be over in a tizzy demanding to know what was wrong. And where the hell was his father, anyway?

Albus skipped down the steps three at a time and snatched the wizaphone from the wall.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hello, this is Teresa Redstone calling from Wizarding Wireless Station Ten. I am looking for someone named James who called the station last night. Is this the correct number and are you James, or possibly his parent or guardian?"

Albus inhaled and then looked around sharply to see if his father was anywhere in sight. He lowered his voice. "This is James."

"Thank you so much for taking my call, James. May I speak to your father?"

"Um… he's not here right now," Albus said. Maybe his father had gone out to the garden. He would not have left the premises completely without telling Al.

"Oh, well, we have a bit of a situation here and would like his authorisation for something. Can you have him call us when he gets back?"

"Sure," Albus said, heart sinking. He knew his father would never call them. A terrible, evil idea came to him and he said, "Wait! Here he is now. Hold on."

Albus set the phone down and raced across the room to the roll-top desk that was permanently cluttered with an assortment of papers. Where was it? He ripped open the centre drawer and rifled through a jumble of items. He was sure it had been—there! Albus snatched it up and ran back to pick up the phone.

Albus affixed the button to his throat and said, "Hello?" His voice was high-pitched, as though he had just sucked in a mouthful of helium. He winced and turned the dial on the button before trying again. "Hello?" This time a deep, almost too-deep, voice issued forth.

"Mr… I'm sorry, but we do not know your name. This is Teresa Redstone…" She repeated her spiel and Albus waved his hands in the air, willing her to get on with it whilst he peered this way and that, alert for his father's return.

"Yes, yes, how can I help you?" Albus asked in what he thought was a passable imitation of his father's impatient mode.

"After your son called the station last night, we were flooded with phone calls. Today we received a large quantity of mail, most of which is addressed to you or to your son. We were hoping to receive your authorisation for us to forward it on, if you would be so kind as to give us your address, of course."

"Um… sure."

"That is excellent news. May I have your name and address, then?"

Oh shit. His name. Uncle Ron said everyone in the wizarding world knew his father's name. "Ron," Albus blurted before he remembered that his uncle was nearly as famous as his father. His eyes darted around the room. "Black!" he finished, fixating on a black jacket hanging on the coat tree. "Ron Black. I live at 223 Songbird Lane, Selsey. In Sussex."

Albus heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs and nearly panicked. He didn't know if any mail would find them with the wrong name, but he had no time to puzzle it out.

"Thanks, bye," he said and hung the phone carefully on the wall before pretending to be engrossed in the voice-changing button.

His father clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. "Did the phone ring? I was enlarging the closet and thought I heard it. I figured you would get it."

"I did. Advertisers," Albus said and shrugged. "I told them we didn't want any."

"Good boy," said his father and kept walking. "Hungry?"

"Starved," Albus said and put the button into his pocket with a muffled sigh of relief.

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

The owl arrived with a large package an hour later. Albus let the struggling beast in through the window and then fed it some owl treats whilst it rested on the perch. Al's father was in Lily's room, trying to tidy it up for some reason Al couldn't determine. Ten minutes after she got home it would look as if a hurricane had been unleashed in there, minus the water. The girl was a total slob.

Albus shooed the owl back outside and shut the window before the cold wind could suck the heat from the house. He picked up the package and made his way up the stairs. Lily's room was first past the risers, so Albus hid the package behind his back and peered inside.

His father was on his knees, peering beneath Lily's bed whilst he spelled various items out from under it, including four teaspoons, a plate with what looked to be a petrified half-sandwich, a huge number of mismatched socks, and James' favourite shirt. Albus smirked. Lily was going to be in _so_ much trouble when James learnt about that one.

His father was muttering under his breath, so Albus slipped past the door and entered his own room. He untied the string binding the package and allowed the contents to spill out onto his bed. There were letters and cards of all sorts, so many that Albus wasn't sure where to start. Half of them seemed to have been dipped in perfume and the co-mingled scents were nearly overpowering.

Albus wrinkled his nose and then pulled away the secret section of his floorboard to retrieve _the wand_. Albus had found it amongst his father's belonging about seven months earlier and secretly practised with it whenever he dared. Albus didn't have his official wand yet; he wouldn't get it until he was headed for Hogwarts, but he had found that the old wand worked well enough for the handful of spells that he knew.

Air Freshening Charms were a necessity with a brother like James, so Albus was quite good at those by now. He mumbled thanks to his cousin Rose for teaching him all the spells he knew as the perfume dissipated. Albus hid the wand again and then tossed a blanket over the stack of letters. He fished out a random envelope, opened it, and started reading.

**_Dear James,_**

**_I heard your heart wrenching tale on WW10 and it fair broke my heart. Your poor father sounds like he needs a new woman to bring his lift back onto the straight and narrow. (Your father will know what I mean about straight and narrow.) I would love to be the one to_**

Albus tossed the letter aside with a frown. He had thought a lot about what it meant, that his father liked men as well as women, and he had talked it over with his cousin Rose, who was the smartest person Albus knew. Rose had been very adamant about the fact that people liked who they liked and if they were attracted to someone of the same gender, then it wasn't their fault any more than they could choose which flavour of ice cream they liked best. Albus thought that had made a lot of sense. He had no idea _why _he preferred Minty Mashup over Lily's favourite Rainbow Sprinkle, but the fact remained that if someone told him he was _wrong_ to prefer Minty Mashup and that he should only eat Rainbow Sprinkle for the rest of his life… well, that would _suck_, because Rainbow Sprinkle was gross.

Therefore, if Al's father liked men, then he should be looking for a new husband and not a new wife. Albus thought it might be cool to have two fathers, particularly if the new one liked Quidditch as much as Al's father did. Albus frowned as a new thought occurred to him. He got off the bed and fetched a piece of parchment and a quill from the desk. Returning to the bed, he sat down and wrote.

REQUIREMENTS

1) Must love Quidditch, or at least like flying

2) Should be handsome (check with Rose on this one)

3) Rich might be nice **NO GOLD DIGGERS!**

4) Likes kids

He examined his list and nodded. He could add to it later, if necessary. With a new sense of determination, he reached for the next letter.

Ten letters and six cards later, his discard pile had grown and Albus only had one MAYBE. Mostly they were from desperate-sounding women who wanted to cuddle Albus to their bosom (he shuddered) and help his father out of his sad slump by the application of things Albus would rather not think about.

"Albus? What are you doing?" his father called.

"Reading!"

"Oh. James and Lily will be back tonight. Should we have pizza?"

"Dad. We should _always_ have pizza. You know that."

His father's laugh echoed through the hallway. He must have finished with Lily's room. "Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to. Pizza it is, then. I'm going to have a shower and try to scrub off the residue of your sister's perfume. Does she have to coat everything with it?"

"Pretty sure she actually _soaks_ some of her stuff in it."

"I'll have to talk to Hermione about not buying her the vile-smelling..." His father's voice was muffled as he moved down the hall to the master bedroom. Albus heard a door close and then the muted sound of the shower turning on. He turned back to his letters.

He added seven more to the reject pile and one more to the MAYBE stack, and then he struck gold.

**_Dear Sir,_**

**_Whilst I am not one to frivolously listen to radio programmes, I happened to overhear your son last evening on WW10. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your wife. I know such a thing is particularly hard on people with children. My son (who is the same age as your son) also lost his mother, although through divorce rather than something more permanent. She moved to the Continent and he only sees her on rare occasions now. It makes him very sad sometimes. But I digress. The reason we divorced was not because I prefer the company of men, although it was a factor. I should like to extend a list of my better qualities, in case you are seeking someone who might assist in easing your pain, or at least commiserating with a brandy or two now and again. I am tall, fit, and have been called "exceedingly handsome" by many of my acquaintances. I am self-employed and financially stable. I have one son (aforementioned) who will attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry next year. If you choose to write to me, you may send an owl to S.M. c/o P.P., A300 Widbrook Hill, Bradford-on-Avon. I hope to hear from you soon._**

Albus read the letter twice more and then hugged it to his chest. The author sounded brilliant. "Financially stable" meant rich, or at least someone with a good job who wouldn't be after his father's gold. And he was "exceedingly handsome" by his own admission. And he had a son who was Al's age, so he probably liked kids. Albus was torn by the thought of gaining another brother. If he turned out to be a huge prat, like James, it would be bad. But if he was quiet and smart, like Hugo, it could be awesome.

Albus looked at his REQUIREMENTS list and was pleased to check off everything except Quidditch, and that could be easily seen to. He ran to the desk, sat down, and started to write.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Scorpius was a bundle of nerves. He was quite proud of the letter he'd written. Well, the letter that he had partially-written. Mostly it had been Aunt Pansy telling him what to say. She was the best co-conspirator in the world, even though she kept muttering, "I shouldn't be doing this" the whole time she was crossing out Scorpius' words and inserting things like "condolences" and "acquaintances." Scorpius knew what they meant, of course, but he did not always spell them correctly. And he admitted that the letter sounded much more like his father than it had when he had written the draft.

Scorpius had been forced to seek her out and divulge the truth when he realised his letter would never pass muster on an adult level. Scorpius was intelligent and verbose, but he was still only ten years old.

A house-elf popped into the room. "Master Scorpius, Master Draco is asking you to be coming down to dinner now."

"Is William down there?"

"Yes, Master Scorpius."

Scorpius sighed heavily and his lips thinned into an irritated line. William Stebbins was the main reason Scorpius had written to the mystery man on the radio. "Tell Father I'll be right down." He opened the door to his wardrobe and wondered how much rebellion he could get away with before he lost important privileges.

Six minutes later, Scorpius entered the dining room and dropped into a chair.

"What are you wearing?" his father asked in clipped tones.

"Muggle shirt," Scorpius replied and reached for the juice.

"And where did you get it?" Through the corner of his eye, Scorpius could see his father's jaw twitching slightly.

"Mail order. Hi, William." He said the last grudgingly.

"Hello, Scorpius. Now, don't be angry at him, Draco. It's only natural for youths to try and be different. I am _sure_ you did some wacky things in your day." William's chuckle was like sandpaper on Scorpius' nerves. He certainly did not need William's condescending approval when he was trying to make a _statement_.

His father's glare could have sizzled the garish colours from Scorpius' shirt if it hadn't been made of some unnatural Muggle substance. Scorpius shrugged and one shoulder slipped through a strategic slice in the fabric. The shirt was hideous, Scorpius had to admit. It was made of multi-coloured circles of clashing colours, held together with golden rings and chains. It fairly screamed _Muggle influence_ and if there was anything William despised, it was Muggles.

"No," Scorpius' father said, "I never did _any_ wacky things. Not even in my youth."

William sighed in a pleased way. "Oh, Draco. That is what I love about you." He bestowed a fond look upon Scorpius' father and Scorpius' hand clenched so tightly around his juice glass he was surprised it didn't snap and send shards digging into his palm. He wanted to bang the glass on the table, or perhaps throw it at William.

"Surely that's not the only thing," his father said dryly and took a drink of tea.

"Well, no." William tittered and Scorpius closed his eyes, remembering that William's annoying laugh was yet another reason to despise him.

"Where is Aunt Pansy?" Scorpius asked loudly and placed a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. He was not hungry, mostly thanks to William's presence, but he preferred to spare himself another lecture. He added a bit of roasted goose and some peas.

"She doesn't live here, Scorpius. She went home."

"And grandmother?"

"She was tired from shopping and went to bed early."

_Traitors_, Scorpius thought. Neither of them liked William, but _grownups_ could make excuses and avoid his unpleasant company. Scorpius was stuck with him.

"It's just us _men_ tonight, Scorpius," William said. "Isn't that exciting?"

"A thrill a minute," Scorpius muttered and stabbed at his goose, pretending it was William's forehead as the tines sank into the meat.

~~*~~O~~*~~

_24 December, 2016_

Harry smiled at Lily as she systematically shook each of her gifts for the hundredth time. "This one is clothes," she said with a sigh. "Clothes should be banned as presents."

"But you like new clothes," Harry said.

"I do. But they are boring Christmas gifts. I much prefer games and toys."

"I'm too old for toys," Albus said from his usual perch in the window seat. He had a book open on his lap, but he kept looking out the window. Harry hadn't seen him turn a page for a half-hour. Albus also seemed more pensive than usual, and had ever since the wizading wireless incident.

"You are?" Harry replied as though surprised. "Oh no! Then I should probably take this one back to the shop for a refund." He walked towards the tree and made as if to grab a package from beneath it.

"No!" Albus cried, sitting up. "I was only joking! I'm still plenty young enough for toys!"

Lily giggled and James snorted. "Watch what you say, dumbass."

"James!" Harry admonished with a stern look.

"Sorry." James looked not in the least apologetic.

Albus relaxed back into his seat and stuck his tongue out at his brother. James flipped him a two-fingered salute that Harry pretended not to see. _Pick your battles_, he reminded himself with a mental sigh.

"What time is Granny Molly and everyone coming over?" Lily asked.

"Six o'clock," Harry said. He was not especially looking forward to being invaded by Weasleys, but Harry's house had become the more popular gathering place for holidays, thanks to his beachfront property and large kitchen. Over-sea Quidditch night games had become a "thing" even on the coldest winter nights. George had figured out how to use Peruvian Instant-Darkness Powder to create an anti-Muggle pitch and the rings were set to glow and levitated in place. James was old enough to play this year and he had been fairly bursting with excitement for a month.

"I can hardly wait for Gran's pumpkin tarts," James said and rubbed at a spot on his broom with a soft cloth.

"I can't wait for cranberry relish. Why do we only have cranberry relish at Christmas?"

"So it's special," Albus said and finally turned a page.

"It would still be special if we had it more than once a year."

Something outside drew Albus' attention and he closed his book with a snap. "I'll be right back," he said and headed for the stairs. James and Lily didn't seem to notice. Albus walked sedately enough, but as soon as he reached the steps, Harry heard him break into a run. Where was he going?

Harry was tempted to follow, but Albus had always been the most private of his three children and would not take kindly to parental snooping, no matter how well-meaning. Harry took comfort in the fact that Albus' privacy preferences did not extend to detrimental secrecy. If something was bothering Al, eventually he would bring it into the open; the process simply took longer than it did with James or Lily.

"Do you think Granny Molly got my hint that I would prefer a knitted hat over a jumper this year?" Lily asked, distracting him.

James snorted. "Good luck with that."

"I started hinting last _March_."

Harry chuckled. His children were brilliant.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Upstairs, Albus was tearing open the letter with shaking hands. With Rose's help, he had written to the mystery suitor. His note had read:

**_Dear S.M.,_**

**_Thank you for your kind words. I received many letters thanks to that silly radio conversation and I admit to chucking them straight into the rubbish bin, with the exception of yours. I would very much like to take you up on that brandy and possibly get to know you better. Perhaps we could arrange to meet at a mutually beneficial time? Alternately, you could drop in at your convenience. My son, Al, would be happy to give you a tour of our home. Also, he is curious about whether or not you are a Quidditch fan. My address is on the envelope and I hope to see you soon._**

**_Sincerely,_**

**_H._**

Albus had been impressed with all of the large words, even if he personally thought his father would never speak so formally. He thought S.M. might approve, so he let it go. He also thought Rose's idea of suggesting the man simply "drop in" to be brilliant. That way, Albus might not have to reveal his secret letter-writing campaign; it could simply be a coincidence that a handsome, eligible man should be in the neighbourhood and popped into the cottage for a cup of tea.

Albus bit his lip, knowing it would never work and that things would most likely blow up in his face when his father found out, but hopefully that would happen after the two men clapped eyes on one another and fell immediately in love.

He shook his head and tried to fight off the knowledge that stupid things like that only happened in the romantic novels Lily nicked from Auntie Fleur. Instead, he turned his attention to the letter in his hand.

**_Dear H.P.,_**

**_Thank you for the invitation. I will see what I can do about arranging a meeting. Quidditch is the greatest sport in the entire world and I hope your son agrees. I was the team Seeker in school and I still fly regularly with my own son._**

**_Regards,_**

**_D.M._**

Albus nearly leaped up and did a dance in the centre of his bedroom floor. The man loved Quidditch! And he had been a Seeker, just like Al's father. It was meant to be, Albus just knew it! And maybe all those romantic novels weren't rubbish, after all. He noticed the man's initials had changed, but perhaps he was one of those people with several names.

He froze. Merlin, what if the man dropped in unexpectedly? What was his father wearing? Bloody hell, probably some faded t-shirt and Muggle jeans. That would never do. Albus shook his head. Really, his father was hopeless at times.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised the man would never drop in on Christmas Eve. And tomorrow was probably also out of the question. Albus had a few days of breathing room. Still. Something had to be done.

He tucked the letter away and got to work.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Scorpius' stomach was in knots. He had barely touched his meal, the Christmas crackers had earned only the ghost of a smile, and he had played the piano with his grandmother and sung the traditional songs with half of his usual enthusiasm. Normally, Scorpius adored Christmas and threw himself into it wholeheartedly, but this year he was too preoccupied with potential future woes to fully enjoy it.

The only bright spot was that William would be gone for several days. He was off in Shropshire or Hertfordshire or some-shire entertaining his "mumsy and daddums" for the hols and was not planning to return until New Year's Eve.

Scorpius glanced at his father and then away. His own deception ate at him, not because he was a stranger to lying and manipulation, but because he had never gone against his father's express wishes whilst doing so. At least, never to this level, he amended.

His grandmother leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I am off to bed. Scorpius, please do not awaken us at ludicrous o'clock, if you please. You have waited this long to open your gifts, so another few hours should not much make difference."

Scorpius nodded. In truth, his gifts were the furthest thing from his mind this year. Strange, considering they had been very important to him mere weeks ago. Could it be he was growing up? If so, it was overrated and he did not particularly care for it. "Yes, Grandmother. Goodnight. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Scorpius. Draco." She gave Scorpius' father the same forehead kiss and hair ruffle, and then departed, leaving Scorpius alone with his father and near-strangling tension.

After a moment, his father set aside the book he had been reading. "Are you going to tell me what is bothering you, or will you merely sit over there and stare at the decorations for the rest of the night?"

Scorpius glanced at him, swallowed hard, and then removed the letters from a pocket of his robes. He handed them over.

"I wrote to him," Scorpius said.

His father frowned and took the letters. "Wrote to whom?"

"The man on the radio. He wrote back and wants to meet you. He says it's fine for you to drop in. Or perhaps you could…" Scorpius trailed off. His throat felt so dry he was surprised he could get any words out at all.

His father gaped at him and skimmed the letters. They were barely notes, really, and the man had not divulged much about himself. He had merely expressed an interest in meeting, and really, what would be the harm in that?

"Scorpius— You. _Why_?"

Scorpius had seldom seen his father at a loss for words; he would have expected to enjoy it more, but it only made his insides twist into a tighter knot. He shrugged and looked away.

His father set the letters on the sofa next to him and took a deep breath that ended in a sigh. "Look, I know you dislike William—"

"I _hate_ William," Scorpius corrected angrily.

His father's eyes narrowed. "But the fact remains that William and I are together and we are in a serious relationship. This," he waved his hand at the parchment, "fantasy of yours is just that. A fantasy. If the poor, widowed man is as lovely as you think he is, then he will certainly find someone to complete his life. That man, however, will _not be me_. I am quite happy with—"

"You are not!"

His father blinked at him.

"You are not," Scorpius repeated. "I see you when you think I'm not watching. I see you walk in the garden, and I hear you roaming the halls at night. When you are with William, your smiles don't reach your eyes and you barely return his hugs. If you have convinced yourself you're in love with him, then you are lying to yourself! I am only ten years old, but I'm not stupid!" Scorpius was panting as he shouted the last. In truth, he would never have been able to put words to the wrongness that he sensed in his father's relationship with William, except that he had witnessed a row between Pansy and Blaise one day after his father had abandoned them to do something with William. Scorpius had accidentally eavesdropped on their irritated conversation, and that was when everything had jelled. Aunt Pansy had been correct; his father didn't love William. He _couldn't_.

Rather than becoming angry, his father only sighed again and smoothed the fabric of his robes over his thighs. "There is more to a relationship than that, Scorpius. Grownups cannot always think about love and silly romantic notions. We have to consider mutual interests and mental companionship. William and I have much in common, and it doesn't matter to me if the passion is somewhat… lacking."

Scorpius glared. "Well, it matters to me. You can talk about books and business and politics and stupid, boring things like that with Grandmother and Uncle Blaise and your other friends. Frankly, I can't imagine what else you have in common. The sex can't be that good."

"_Scorpius_!" His father's face was a mask of shock and Scorpius had never seen it that particular shade of red.

Scorpius waved it away and rolled his eyes. "I know what sex is." He didn't, exactly, but he knew there were things grownups got up to in their bedrooms that involved nakedness and body parts that were kept covered in the daytime, and he really, _really_ did not want to think about that _at all_ with his father in mind, and definitely not with William in mind. He pulled a face.

"Do you?" his father asked in a glacial tone, which likely meant he would be having words with Aunt Pansy in the near future.

"It's not her fault," Scorpius said quickly.

"Right." His father shook his head. "Be that as it may, Scorpius, I will not be meeting with your radio man, and that is final. Despite what you and my traitorous friends might say to the contrary, I am content and have no wish to bring additional complications into my life. Things have finally become… manageable, for me. I don't expect you to understand until you are older, but I am not looking for anything more than the quiet, peaceful sort of relationship that I have with William."

Scorpius felt like punching the sofa. "At least _meet_ the man!"

"No, Scorpius." The tone was final.

Scorpius got to his feet. "Fine!" he snapped, feeling frustrated beyond his ten years. "Marry William and have a boring, stupid life with someone I hate! See if I care!" With that, he turned and marched out of the room, ignoring his father calling him back. To his annoyance, he felt angry tears spill down his cheeks and wiped them away.

Fuck William. Fuck his father. Fuck Christmas and… _fuck everything_.

Scorpius slammed his bedroom door and went to bed.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Draco leaned his head back against the sofa and groaned, rubbing his eyes. That had gone well.

He Summoned a glass of brandy from the sideboard and drained it in one gulp. The burn did nothing to relax the headache that had formed during the conversation with his son. Scorpius meant well, but he could not see beyond his childish notions of what a relationship should be. Frankly, Draco had no idea where he had picked up such nonsense. It couldn't have been from Pansy; she was more cynical than Draco in many ways. And it certainly could not have been Blaise, for whom robes were more carefully selected and longer-lasting.

He glanced at the letters. They were innocuous, giving away little more than an address. Selsey. Draco snorted. The ends of the earth, practically. Draco thought back to the man's radio conversation. He had seemed kindly and his voice had been resonant and deep, almost sexy. _And he might also be balding and in possession of a huge paunch, snored like an erumpent, and had halitosis and/or a foul body odour_, Draco thought scornfully. Trotting down to Selsey to meet with the man would be madness.

He pushed away from the sofa and walked over to the sideboard to refill his glass, choosing to do it manually rather than with his wand. He liked the feel of the crystal decanter and the way the fairy lights reflected from the faceted surface when he turned it towards the light.

It was inexplicable, really, how Scorpius could dislike (_hate_) William so. Honestly, what was there to deplore? William was utterly without offense and a perfectly suitable mate. Granted, he might be somewhat boring, and was completely unimaginative in the bedroom, but Draco had been through plenty of volatile relationships in his youth; he was a grown man now and his romantic expectations had been swept aside by hard, cold reality. Without someone stable and solid, like William, Draco was doomed to die old and alone. And really, he would prefer not.

Scorpius would understand, in time. Draco sighed and tipped back another mouthful of brandy. He tried to picture the mystery man through Scorpius' eyes. Likely his son thought the man would be tall and handsome, with thick black hair and piercing eyes, a body like Adonis and a smile that could light up a room. Draco chuckled aloud to cover his heavy sense of disappointment. There was no one like that for him.

Scorpius would get over it and adjust to William. He had no other choice.

Draco set down the glass, extinguished the lights, and went to bed.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Whilst his father was occupied entertaining Albus' aunts, uncles, grandparents, and other Weasley kin, Albus crept into his room and snatched every single old, ragged, and "comfortable" t-shirt that his father owned. As an afterthought, he included a few less-than-pleasing pairs of jeans, several sets of threadbare socks, and two old cardigans that had seen better days.

With luck, his father would receive some new clothing as Christmas gifts and not even notice the missing items. At least not until after he had met Mr Right.

Using the wand hidden in his room, Albus shrank the items, tucked them into a hidden corner of his wardrobe, and then went downstairs to re-join the festivities. He had done all he could to prepare his father for the man's surprise visit. Now he had only to wait.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Draco nearly gnashed his teeth and considered starting on the Christmas eggnog several hours early.

"Scorpius, are you certain you are feeling all right?" his mother asked for the fourth time.

"'M fine," Scorpius mumbled.

Draco's mother shot him a concerned glance. "He's fine," Draco snapped. Her brows rose.

Scorpius got to his feet. "I am going to put away my new things." With a flick of his wand, he gathered his opened gifts into a neat pile and Levitated the lot. Despite his annoyance, Draco could not suppress the burst of pride he felt at Scorpius' prowess with spellwork. He would be absolutely brilliant next year when he went to Hogwarts.

Scorpius stalked out of the room.

"Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" his mother asked.

"Not particularly, no," Draco replied.

"And yet, you shall."

Draco glared at her, feeling a bit like the petulant pre-teen that had just stomped out of the room. "Fine," he said grudgingly, knowing she would never quit until she knew everything, "Scorpius wants me to meet with a man whose sob story he heard on the radio the other night. Scorpius wrote the man a letter."

Predictably, his mother looked taken aback. "On the radio? What man?"

"I don't know! Some random caller. Scorpius decided that we were soulmates, or some such rubbish. I told him things were serious between William and me and that he had best button his robes and deal with it."

"I see," his mother said. "Do you know anything about this man?"

"Mother!"

"I am just asking."

Draco huffed a breath. "Nothing. Only that he lives in Selsey, has a son Scorpius' age named James, and he lost his wife three years ago to some illness. Oh yes, and that even though he loved his wife very much he was, quite possibly, gay. Or at least played Beater on both teams."

"Selsey?" she repeated, eyes sharp.

"Yes. Why?"

"It… is not very far from here."

"What difference does that make?"

"It was merely an observation, Draco. Do you want me to go and speak with Scorpius?"

Draco waved a hand at her, irritated without quite knowing why. "If you like."

She got to her feet, gave him an enigmatic look, and went out in a swirl of silk.

~TBC~


	3. Chapter 3

_26 December, 2016_

The next morning, Draco stood on a street corner in Selsey, still not quite certain how or why he was there.

"The little beast had better Sort into Slytherin or it will be a waste of sheer, bloody talent," he muttered.

Scorpius had bent Draco's mother's ear with some pitiable version of events, and she had berated Draco for being unwilling to indulge the boy (_what harm can it do to meet the man?_) on Christmas Day, which had been followed by Scorpius behaving more craftily pathetic than ever before (_I only want you to meet a new friend, Father_) whilst backing Draco into a trap from which there was no escape.

"He is acting more like his mother every day," Draco added to himself and pulled his fur-lined cloak around himself more tightly. It was bitterly cold in Selsey with the wind blasting inland from the sea. "And who would live here?" The man was obviously deranged.

Draco cast a number of Disillusionment and Warming Charms and then started onwards, searching for a particular address. He found the place without difficulty; a small two-storey house parked on a long stretch of beach, tucked away by itself round a bend. The lack of neighbours seemed to make the man's loneliness even more obvious. As he approached, Draco sensed the prickle of magic, probably Anti-Muggle Charms, since Selsey was largely inhabited by Muggles.

"This is ridiculous," Draco muttered as he approached the house What if the man had wards, as every prudent wizard should? The thought made Draco pause before he got too close. He felt like a stalker.

The front door banged open suddenly, startling Draco. Two shapes hurtled out and passed him; one of them nearly brushed the edge of Draco's cloak.

"Give it back, Albus, you stupid wanker!" The words were shouted by a red-haired girl, somewhat younger than Scorpius, Draco judged.

The black-haired boy she pursued laughed at her. "Language, Lils!"

"You are so lucky I don't have a wand!" she yelled.

"Why? Would you hex me with a Shoe-Tying Charm? That's the only spell you know, isn't it?"

"James is teaching me the Bat-Bogey Hex!"

Draco drew in a breath at the reminder of another red-haired girl using that hex on him, ages past. As if to underscore the jolt of memory, a black-haired man stepped from the house.

"Albus! Lily! Get back in here! You'll catch your deaths. Albus, give her the tart. I'll make some more this afternoon."

It almost seemed surreal. _Of course,_ Draco thought. _Of course, it would be Harry Potter_. Fate, it seemed, still had a twisted sense of humour where Draco was concerned.

"She always gets everything!" Albus yelled, holding the tart over his head whilst the girl attempted to jump for it.

"Do not!"

Potter looked fit, Draco noted, reluctantly admiring his form as he leaned against the doorframe. He was lean, but muscular, and Draco gave a moment of thanks to the stiff breeze that flattened the pale button-down shirt against Potter's skin. The curve of his ribs and line of his chest was clearly visible, as was the hard peak of one perfect-looking nipple. Draco's dry mouth had nothing to do with the wind.

Potter's hair was still a tangle, just a shade too long, and mussed even worse by the breeze. His eyes were also the same, wide and intense. Draco was surprised to remember their exact colour, even after all the years between them. Only the spectacles were different, smaller and slightly more fashionable.

"Just come inside! Right this instant!"

The girl punched her brother in the stomach and snatched the tart when he doubled over. "Thank you," she said primly and then turned to march back inside.

"Dad!" the boy choked, "are you going to let her get away with that?"

Potter sighed and shook his head, looking weary and older than his years for a moment. He pushed away from the doorframe and followed the girl inside.

"She is such a beast," the boy muttered as he passed Draco. He froze suddenly and turned back, staring straight at Draco, who held his breath. Was his Disillusionment Charm slipping? Had the boy caught wind of his shampoo or soap?

"Albus!" Potter's voice boomed from the open doorway.

The boy growled. "Coming, geez!" He turned away and stomped down the walk. When the door had closed behind the boy, Draco Disapparated.

He shrugged out of his cloak, dropped onto the sofa and started to laugh. The entire situation was absurd. Harry fucking Potter was living in Selsey, lonely and closet-bent. And one of his sons wanted to fix him up with a boyfriend. James, Draco recalled from the radio, not Albus.

Scorpius ran into the room. "Dad! Dad, did you meet him? Did you see him? How was it? What happened?"

Draco nearly laughed again, and instead gave Scorpius a large grin. "Your silly plot has been put to rest forever. I hope this will teach you never to meddle in affairs of the heart, especially when they are none of your business."

Scorpius visibly deflated and sat down heavily on the edge of the sofa. "Was he terribly ugly?"

"Oh no, he was handsome enough. He was also Harry Potter."

"He looked like Harry Potter? But I've seen his photos. Harry Potter is… well, for an old guy, he's pretty fit, isn't he?"

"You mistake me, Scorpius. He did not _look_ like Harry Potter, he _is_ Harry Potter." Draco could not withhold his laugh at that. "Of course he is Harry Potter, because the universe is cruel and the git lives to torment me, even when he has no idea he is doing so."

"Wait, _the_ Harry Potter? _The_ _famous_ _Harry Potter_ lives in Selsey and secretly likes men? Do the newspapers know?"

Draco nearly gaped at him. His son's leap from one conclusion to the next was astounding, and more than a little impressive. "I… I would assume not or we would have heard."

"I wonder how much they would pay for the information?" Scorpius pondered and then shook his head before Draco could comment. "But never mind! This is even better! You already know him! You know he is lonely and needs a boyfriend, he likes a lot of the same things you do—remember that photo of him playing Quidditch last year, the one you were ranting about? This is brilliant!"

"I was never ranting and—no, Scorpius. Absolutely not. The man _loathes_ me! I tried to kill him several times, during that whole unpleasant war situation. We were on opposite sides. I broke his nose!"

"You did what?"

Draco winced. "I am not proud of it, all right? I was not a very nice child at Hogwarts. I did horrible things. Terrible, unspeakable things." He looked away, feeling decades-old nausea at the memory of some of those things, like almost killing Katie Bell, like letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, like being responsible for the death of Albus Dumbledore…

"But you've done lots of good things since then. Surely Harry Potter will forgive you?"

Draco snorted. "Not bloody likely." He shook his head and leaned over to clap Scorpius on the knee. "Besides, I'm happy with William, remember? I tried to tell you, but you and your grandmother had to conspire against me and force me to stalk the scarhead. Perhaps this will teach you both not to meddle."

"But, Father!"

"No buts." Draco got to his feet and headed for the door. "And no more of this insanity. Right now I am going to write William a letter thanking him for being childless."

His son's cry of outrage followed him down the hall.

~~*~~O~~*~~

_29 December, 2016_

Scorpius had to do something. Despite his father's insistence that Harry Potter was not the man for him, there had been something different in his manner when he spoke of the Harry, something near-panicked and… alive. His father never looked like that around William and Scorpius thought he much preferred it to the dry, boring, old-mannishness that William seemed to bring out.

With renewed determination, Scorpius realised he needed help. He needed Aunt Pansy. Thankfully, she had full access to Malfoy Manor, so a quick Floo-call brought her straight to Scorpius without alerting his father or grandmother.

"Father will kill me if he finds out I'm talking to you about this," he said the moment she stepped through.

"Oh, I'm intrigued." She smiled, called for a house-elf, and sent a note to Scorpius' grandmother saying that she was taking Scorpius shopping for after-hols sales. The house-elf returned with a "have fun, do not be late for dinner" reply. "There. Now I have permission to kidnap you. Let's go."

Pansy took Scorpius' hand and Apparated them to Diagon Alley. He blinked at her. "We really are shopping?" he asked.

"Of course. You didn't expect me to lie to _her_, did you?"

"I think you just like shopping," Scorpius replied, even though he admitted that his grandmother could be terrifying at times, such as the time Scorpius had mixed her perfumes together in a game of "experimental potions"—he mentally cringed at the memory, even though he had only been five at the time. Apparently some of them had been rare and expensive.

"That, too. Oh look! Gibraltar gemstones are marked down!"

"Please, no jewellery shopping," Scorpius begged. "Besides, I need to talk to you!"

"Fine. I'll take you to Flourish and Blott's. It will be easier to cast Privacy Charms and you can purchase some new books, although I'll never understand where you got your penchant for reading. Your father certainly doesn't read."

"Grandmother reads."

Aunt Pansy made a noncommittal sound and they walked to the bookshop. Scorpius suppressed his need to dive into the shelves and stock up on more books; he had received several for Christmas that he had not yet read, so he supposed some restraint was in order. Pansy led him to a dark corner that had been set up with two soft lamps for reading. She cast a _Muffliato_.

"Spill it," she said as she sat down. "Is this about that letter we wrote? Your father sent me a Howler the other day ranting about staying out of his business and not filling your head with nonsense, but he does that frequently, so I wasn't sure of the context."

Scorpius sat in the other chair and nodded. "Yes. Father went to spy on the man after I insisted."

"He did?" Aunt Pansy seemed surprised. "Well, that's proven it, then. He would never have done that if he was as happy with William as he pretends." She lifted a nail to her lips and then jerked her hand away. Trying to break the habit, Scorpius knew.

He lowered his voice as he leaned forward. "The man is Harry Potter. _The_ Harry Potter."

Her yelp of surprise was loud enough to penetrate the _Muffliato_, but thankfully no one seemed near enough to have heard. A moment later she burst out laughing.

"What is funny?" Scorpius asked, still glancing around furtively.

"Of course it's Harry Potter. Of bloody course." She wiped her eyes and shook her head. "This is brilliant, actually. I should have known it was inevitable."

"What do you mean?"

Pansy shook her head. "In school your father and Potter had something of a mutual hate-obsession thing going. Draco tried everything he could to get Potter's attention, even though he pretended it was all in the service of the Dark Lord. In truth, very little motivated your father more than Potter."

"He doesn't talk about the war much."

"He wouldn't, but I think it's one reason William is no good for him. William was in Finland during the war years; he has no idea what it was like, what we all went through." She went quiet and Scorpius said nothing, recognising the same melancholy that often gripped his father when those times were mentioned. It must have been terrible. Pansy brightened. "Anyway. Potter hates me. But I don't think he hates Draco. He saved his life enough times, at any rate."

"Harry Potter saved Father's life?"

Pansy made a snorting noise. "I'm not surprised he ever told you about that. I'll save it for another time. Tell me about our current situation. I need every detail."

Scorpius nodded, and began.

~~*~~O~~*~~

_30 December, 2016_

Albus lurked in the doorway, wanting nothing more than to flee. His father sat in a chair before the fire, reading a book. Every so often he would look up and stare into the flames; Albus wondered what he was thinking about. Despite his father's apparent happiness over the last few days, regardless of the presents and the festive food and easy smiles, Albus knew his father was far from happy. With renewed resolve, he stepped forward.

"Dad?"

His father's head swung round and his melancholy expression softened. "Albus. What are you doing awake?"

"I need to tell you something."

"Can it wait until morning? It's quite late." His father opened his arms and Albus walked into them, sighing when strong arms wrapped around him. Albus was too old for hugs, mostly, but that didn't mean he didn't still like them. He hugged back, glad that James was not awake to see it and mock him for acting like a baby.

"It can't wait," Albus mumbled.

"All right, then. Tell me and then hie yourself back to bed, young man."

Albus sat down in the squishy chair that was normally claimed by James. His fingers twisted in the soft fabric of his pyjama bottoms. "Remember when I called the radio station? The other night."

"Of course I remember."

"Well, they called. To ask for our address. So I gave it to them."

"You gave our address to a radio station?"

"For the letters!" Albus said quickly. "People were writing to you. Lots of people. They didn't like that you were lonely and wanted to help. Except that some of them were creepy or weird and I burned a lot of them, especially the ones that stank of gross perfume—"

"Albus."

"Anyway, there was one that I liked, so I wrote back to him."

"You wrote a letter to a stranger?"

"No. Yes. It's not like that! He's a very interesting man with a son my age and he likes Quidditch and used to player Seeker, just like you, and he says he's handsome—"

"Of course he does." His father snorted, but Albus was glad to note that he didn't seem too angry.

"And so I suggested he drop in sometime and meet you, but he didn't, and then today I got this." Albus pulled a half-crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it out. He handed it to his father.

**_Dear Sir,_**

**_If it is amenable to you, I would like our first meeting to be memorable, and I am not the sort to "drop in" unannounced. Therefore I request your presence tomorrow night, New Year's Eve, in Trafalgar Square near the lions at 11:00 pm. Perhaps we can ring in the New Year together and begin, if nothing else, a friendship._**

**_Sincerely,_**

**_D.M._**

His father read the note and then blinked at him. A mysterious man you have only spoken to through letters would like to meet me in London. Albus, do you have any idea how many people dislike me? They have our address; there could be any number of—"

"He's had it for days and nothing has happened. I think you are para… para… What is that word?"

"Paranoid," his father snapped, "and I am not paranoid, I am _cautious_."

"Does cautious mean afraid?"

Albus had never seen his father's face scrunched up quite that way before; it was interesting. "The answer is no, Albus. I am not meeting anyone on New Year's Eve, especially when I have your uncle's party to attend."

"You always leave parties early, even on New Year's. Last year Hugo and I stayed up later than everyone and you went home at 10:30."

"Yes, exactly. I am an old man and need my sleep. I would not even be awake long enough to meet with your… D.M. What does that stand for, anyway? Diabolical Manipulator? Dastardly Maniac?"

"Rose suggested it was Deliciously Magnetic."

"You are not allowed to speak to Rose Weasley ever again."

Albus snorted a laugh and his father smiled. Something loosened in Al's chest when he realised his father wasn't angry, even though he still seemed determined not to meet with Albus' pen-pal. "But can't you just—?"

"No. No, Albus, I cannot. I know I might seem sad at times, but I am actually very happy. I don't want anything other than to be the best father I can be and to remain here in Selsey and build kites and take care of you and James and Lily."

Albus scowled, annoyed at his father's obstinate refusal. "Your kites are a bit crap."

"Oy! They are not. Well. Maybe they are, a bit. But that's not the point. The point is that you need to give up this silly dream and know that when I am ready, I will go out and meet someone _on my own_, without the assistance of a small child and a radio show. Is that clear?"

"I am not a small child. And can't you just meet with him one bloody time? What can it hurt?"

"Language, Albus. I already told you; I'm not an Auror any longer, but there are people out there who remember when I was. They remember the war and they remember that things did not go the way they expected, and they sometimes want to hurt people because of it. And it's not paranoia to refuse to meet with a stranger based on," he shook the parchment, "a note!"

"Then take someone with you," Albus said, growing desperate as he watched his father's chance at real happiness slipping away. He did not know why he felt so strongly about the mystery man in the letters, he just did. "Take Uncle Ron or Uncle Bill! They can handle anything. Besides, this man isn't dangerous!"

"You don't know that, Albus."

"I do!" Albus cried, shooting to his feet. "I do know it!" To his chagrin, Albus felt tears prickling behind his lids.

"Albus, stop that! You'll wake Lily and James."

Albus stared at him in fury and then turned and ran up the stairs to his room. He wouldn't break down in front of him and give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd been right, that Albus was just a small child who didn't know anything.

He threw himself on his bed and pulled his pillow close to his chest. He wished he knew why he felt the way he did about the man in the letters. Something about the man just seemed right, important. Magic didn't always make sense, that much he knew.

A short time later, when his father came in and put a hand on his shoulder, Albus feigned sleep.

"We'll talk about this in the morning," his father said quietly. "Get some rest."

But they didn't talk about it in the morning. Albus slept late and Aunt Hermione popped in early, requesting his father's help with something for their party. All three Potter siblings were shipped off to Gran Weasley's for the day. It was there that Albus met up with his salvation. Rose. She would know what to do.

~~*~~O~~*~~

_31 December, 2016_

"…and then Bibs thought it would be amusing to use pastels instead of the traditional jewel tones on the table and Niles was horrified. I got quite a chuckle from their squabbling, but it looked beautiful, of course. Pity there was no snow."

Draco smiled at William and let the words wash over him. William's unassuming solidity was comforting, Draco told himself. So what if there were no surprises and no fiery sparks. William was _soothing_.

"I say, your glass is empty again. Let me pop over and refill it for you." William took the empty champagne glass from Draco's fingers and strolled towards the sparkling fountain at one edge of the ballroom.

"Fuck me, if he tells one more boring story about his heinously dull family I will _Incendio_ my own ears," Pansy said next to him.

"You need not listen," Draco snapped. "Why don't you go rescue Blaise from Daphne? She seems to have more tentacles than usual this year."

"Blaise can take care of himself."

"Implying that I cannot?"

"Shoe. Fitting." She sipped her champagne.

Draco rolled his eyes and then caught sight of Scorpius glowering at him from across the room. The little prat had been insufferable since Christmas. "I am not going," Draco said, not for the first time, the words urgent even though delivered in a low enough tone that William could not hear. Draco accepted the refilled glass and forced a gracious smile.

"Fine. Don't," Pansy replied.

"Don't what, dear?" William asked.

Draco's sharp elbow to her ribcage halted whatever inappropriate comment she might have spewed. She shot him a glare.

"I think I will go ask Daphne to dance," she said. "At least she knows how to have a good time."

William chuckled and watched her leave. "Darling Pansy," he said. "Has she given any more thought to the lethi-therapy I recommended?"

Draco nearly winced, recalling Pansy's reaction to _that_ particular conversation. William was convinced that Pansy's shrewish behaviour was somehow a result of her "undisclosed memories and feelings unexamined from her childhood," rather than the fact that she simply disliked him.

"You'll have to ask her," Draco prevaricated.

William made a noncommittal sound and then cleared his throat. "Shall we adjourn to the garden, Draco? I see your mother has decorated it beautifully this year. The fairy lights are stunning, and not a pastel colour in sight."

Draco refrained from pointing out that the house-elves had done all the decorating, as usual. William was an old-school pureblood and he generally treated all house-elves as though they were invisible. Instead, Draco acquiesced and they walked through the open doors and down the marble steps to the garden. It was perfectly warm, and the roses were still in bloom. His mother had draped Warming Charms throughout the garden and amorous couples wandered freely amongst the greenery.

"Night-blooming dragon flame! Mumsie would be so envious. She has never had much luck with them." William leaned close to examine the vibrant red-orange blooms of a flowering shrub. Draco took advantage of his distraction to cast a Tempus Charm. It was 11:15. For just a moment, Draco wondered if Harry Potter awaited him in London. He shook off the thought with a flash of annoyance. It wasn't him Potter sought; it was a romantic mystery man who would sweep him off his feet and pledge his eternal love and devotion. Draco snorted at the thought.

"Really, Draco," William said, straightening. "Our mothers would become fast friends if they spent more time together, I believe. It would be good for them."

Draco bit his lip. His mother found William's "mumsie" to be flighty and annoying with the emotional range of an azalea, if he remembered her comment rightly.

They walked upon the gravelled path beneath fairy lights that flew and sparkled overhead, glowing brighter as they passed beneath. William seemed to have something on his mind. He was more garrulous than usual and stopped frequently to admire the various blooms. Draco would have been amused if he wasn't so distracted. He kept wondering about Harry Potter. Was he really lurking in Trafalgar Square waiting for Draco?

Draco and William reached a darkened corner of the garden, probably kept that way by the fairies who had taken it upon themselves to create a quiet, romantic spot for lovers. A cushioned marble bench rested invitingly beneath dim pink and violet lights.

William paused, but did not sit. A breeze pulled at Draco's hair, drawing his attention to the wilderness just beyond the edge of the garden. A meadow full of thick grass, yellowed and flattened by winter wind and rain, stretched down a gentle incline until it met the edge of the Malfoy Thicket. Not quite a forest, it was more inviting than the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, and Draco had played frequently amongst the trees as a child, fighting imaginary foes and wishing for companions to battle with.

He suppressed a sigh, thinking of the fanciful dreams of his childhood. Never had he imagined he would spend his allotment of adventure by fighting for the losing side, and end up clinging to placidity and a boring, predictable future. Before him lay nothing more exciting than the changing price of dragon scales and copper cauldrons.

"Draco," William said, snapping him out of his melancholy reverie. "Where are you?"

Draco forced a smile and turned back to him. "Right here, of course."

"You seemed a thousand miles away for a moment. Is something troubling you?"

"Of course not. Everything is wonderful." He nearly cringed at the lie.

"It is. It most assuredly is." William nodded and gave him a toothy grin. "Quite wonderful. In fact, I have been inspired recently to make an attempt at prolonging this... wonderfulness. I spoke to Mumsie and Daddums about it over the hols and they were very supportive. Not that their opinion means a jot in the long run, of course; I do hope you know I am not bound to the teat."

Draco snorted. Despite William's words, he had seldom met anyone more influenced by parental opinion. He had little doubt that if Mumsie and Daddums had found Draco wanting in any way that William would have dredged up some excuse or another and vanished into the list of Draco's exes.

"Anyway." William chuckled. "Listen to me, babbling like a house-elf. Silly to be nervous, I know, but there you are."

_Nervous_. The word penetrated the haze of quietude that William's chatter normally induced. He was nervous? William was never nervous. It was a quiet evening and an unexciting party. What did he have to be nervous about?

"Draco. There is something I would like to ask of you."

The statement jolted Draco and William's agitation suddenly made sense. William's hand rose to smooth down a portion of his robes, an unfamiliar gesture Draco had noticed more than once during the evening. _Salazar, he means to propose._

The idea was not unexpected. William had brought it up more than once and they had discussed it, rationally and emotionlessly, more than once. _A merger_, William had said with a chuckle, _between two families of unquestionable purity._

The forest drew Draco's attention again, wild and dark in the distance, like Potter's hair. The thought of Potter sent Draco's emotions into a tangle. _William_ was what he wanted. Security and safety and unchanging devotion, even if it was lukewarm. Potter was nothing like that. A relationship with him would be volatile and unpredictable, with shouted fights and thrown objects, sharp intensity an abyss of the unknown.

Draco caught his breath. The thought of it made his blood sing. He had almost forgotten what it was like to want to fly.

"Draco," William said in a serious tone. "Draco, would you—?"

"William," Draco broke in sharply. "I just remembered something urgent that I need to do. Will you excuse me?"

William stared at him, which was comical for the mere fact that Draco had never seen him seriously discombobulated. "_Now__?_ But..."

Draco nodded and leaned forward to place a quick peck on William's cheek. Something about the gesture bespoke of finality and it was almost saddening, might have been so had his heart not begun to beat faster while something nearly forgotten stirred in his veins. Anticipation, and not a little fear, but damn if he didn't feel more alive than he had in years.

"Right now, I'm afraid. Goodbye, William." He turned and started towards the house, and neither paused nor looked back when William called out his name. Inside the doors, Draco clamped a hand onto Scorpius' wrist and hauled him through the crowd.

"Father! What—what are you doing?" Scorpius yelped.

"We are going to London, you little schemer. And if you ever attempt to manipulate me again, I will tan your hide with one of the medieval torture devices in Great-Uncle Antilles' suite."

"_London_? Yes!" Scorpius said nothing more, but the smile on his face spoke volumes. Draco Summoned warm cloaks and gloves with a wry grin. If it all went pear-shaped, as it most likely would, at least Scorpius would be there to witness it.

He took Scorpius' hands and Apparated them to London.

~TBC~


	4. Chapter 4

Rose folded the parchment and handed it to him. Albus took it solemnly and tamped down the prickle of fear that kept rearing its ugly head. He had to do this, despite the fact that it would likely get him in so much trouble that he would be grounded until he reached an age to unground himself.

"Don't worry. It's an easy walk from Bimsey's Bookstore to Trafalgar Square. Mum and I have done it many times, although never so late at night, of course. But it's bound to be busy with it being New Year's Eve and all, so just watch out for the Muggles and don't do anything stupid. You're dressed okay with that jacket and jeans, and you remember that Warming Charm I taught you if you get cold, right? But save that as a last resort because otherwise you'll get fined for use of underage magic."

Rose's chatter was comforting. _I can do this_. "I wish you could come with me."

"Merlin, I would, but I'll be in enough trouble just for helping you. Mother would have me sent to a permanent boarding school for wayward girls if I went to London without permission."

"They have those?"

"Muggles do. You're lucky you don't get the Muggle threats as well as wizard ones held over your head. My mum can be scary."

Albus nodded. His aunt Hermione was one of the most terrifying people he knew. If she was his mum, Albus probably wouldn't have considered the crazy course on which he was about to embark. "What time is it?"

Rose pulled out the wand she had nicked from somewhere; she'd had it for as long as Albus could remember and he had seethed with envy until he'd located the old hawthorn wand tucked into his father's forgotten belongings. He touched his pocket and felt for its solid presence.

"Eleven twenty. You should go, in case he's a bit early, plus you'll need some walking time. Good luck."

Albus nodded, shook her hand solemnly (Rose didn't go for girly things like hugs), and then scooped a handful of Floo Powder. The sounds of merriment rose in volume from the main room for a moment, but Albus knew his father's laughter was forced, and later that night he would sit alone on the sofa and stare out at the waves, brooding. Albus' resolve strengthened. He was doing the right thing.

"Bimsey's Bookstore!" he called and stepped into the flames.

The clerk at the store barely glanced up from his book when Albus stepped from the fireplace. The public Floo was near the front doors and did not require one to enter the bookshop to purchase something out of guilt for using the Floo, for which Albus was grateful. He liked books, but had no time at present to browse.

He pushed through the front doors and entered Muggle London. Rose's directions were spot-on and it didn't take long for him to reach Trafalgar Square. Muggles were everywhere, packs of them, loud and boisterous and intimidating. Albus kept a tight grip on his wand, but even though he was only ten years old, and alone, he did not draw much attention. He walked with confidence and pretended to know where he was going, a lesson he remembered from his Uncle Bill. "Confidence draws far less attention than fear or insecurity."

Albus had a few moments of panic when he could not locate the lions, but after pushing through the crowd—"Oy, watch it, boy!", "Rude!", "Watch yer schnozz, lad, you nearly took me elbow ta yer noggin"—he located the massive lion statues with a sigh of relief. Albus was disappointed to find no one waiting there, even though he was late. Several Muggles crowded round the space, but they were obviously part of groups and none looked tall, blonde, or wizardly.

Albus tucked himself into a darkened corner to avoid attention and curled into a ball for warmth. His head jerked up at every set of footsteps and his hopes were dashed again and again by the people approaching: a laughing young couple, a stern-faced man dressed in a Muggle suit and carrying a briefcase, a lone woman in a long leather coat and shaved head bobbing her head in time with music only she could hear, and a group of teens passing around a cigarette of some sort whilst arguing about how lame the fireworks display might prove to be in the upcoming hours.

The air was cold and the chill seeped through his Muggle jacket and into his shoes; his toes were freezing. Despite the cold, he was sleepy. It was far past his usual bedtime and his nice warm mattress and blankets began to seem enticing. He was considering pulling out his wand and casting a Warming Charm when he heard voices that caused his head to snap up.

"…should be over here somewhere, Father. See, the lions are right there!" The voice belonged to a boy and Albus leaned out from his secluded place to search for the speakers. His eyes fastened on a blonde boy walking next to a tall, similar-looking man. Albus' heart thudded, sounding loud to his own ears. Could it be?

The crowd had thickened in the time Albus had spent lurking. A Muggle carrying a metallic bottle jostled the blonde man, who looked at him as though he's been touched by something tentacled and coated in slime.

"Pardon," the Muggle said loudly and staggered away. The man said something to the boy, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. Albus needed to get closer.

"…not here and not going to be here," the man said. "Are you satisfied?"

"Hello," Albus piped up. "Are you, by man, the chance looking for someone, um?" As soon as the words tumbled out, Albus wanted to kick himself. Rose had made him practice them until they had rolled smoothly off his tongue; but of course in the heat of the moment he would mangle them.

The blonde boy laughed. Albus shot him a sidelong glance, suddenly uncertain.

"Shush, Scorpius. I am, indeed, looking for someone. Judging by your appearance, might I assume that your last name is Potter?" The man's voice was rich and tinted with amusement. Albus was instantly smitten and his reservations vanished.

"Yes, sir. I am Albus Potter. Um… I'm really sorry my dad isn't here. See, he's been… ah." Albus' mind went completely blank. Rose had coached him on what to say. Albus was supposed to invite the man back to the Burrow to ring in the New Year. With all of Al's relatives, another body would hardly be noticed, even with the blonde boy in tow. But Albus had completely forgotten the proper way to ask.

"He isn't here, then?" the man asked. His voice was no longer soft and amused. It had sharpened and his smile disappeared.

"Well, no."

"I see. Does your father often allow you to jaunt off to the centre of Muggle London all alone in the middle of the night?"

"No!" Albus said, near frantic. _Don't blow this_, he admonished himself angrily. "I am here to invite you to come with me. To my aunt's house."

"You are here _alone_, to invite me to your aunt's house." The man's voice was clearly disapproving now. Albus looked to the boy, desperate for some sort of assistance, but the boy's face was a mirror image of his father's.

"I have a wand!" Albus squeaked. He pulled the wand from his jacket and tried to hold it with casual ease, the way he had watched his father do it many times before.

"You have a…" The man's words trailed off and his stared at the wand as though he had never seen one before. His voice was nearly a whisper when he stepped closer, as if to shield Albus from another group of loud Muggles. "Did your father give that to you?"

Albus bit his lip. If he told the truth, the man might think him a thief, but if he lied and the man later spoke to his father about it… Either way Albus was in a bad spot. "What's your favourite Quidditch team?" he blurted. Distraction sometimes worked on his father. It was worth a shot.

A large band of Muggles approached and then parted around them like a school of fish navigating a sea anemone. Albus stepped closer to the man and boy, not afraid, of course, but simply unwilling to get trampled. He shoved the wand back into his pocket.

"Pardon, gents," one Muggle said loudly.

"What a lovely boy," one of his female companions added. Albus looked at the blonde boy, Scorpius (his name was worse than Albus', honestly), but it was impossible to tell which boy she had meant.

The man had not looked away from Albus. "Do you know my name?"

"No," Albus admitted.

"I am Draco Malfoy. It appears that these Muggles plan to fill every portion of this space, so it would be prudent for us to find a quieter location to converse. Shall we?"

"Oh, can we go to Boundary, Father?" Scorpius asked and tugged on his sleeve. "Can we?"

"Fine."

_Draco Malfoy_, Albus repeated under his breath. It was a fabulous name, and sounded somewhat familiar. Where had he heard it before?

The man jutted an elbow in Albus' direction, so he took it. The man pulled out a wand and cast a spell that Albus recognised immediately; a Disillusionment Charm. His father cast one nearly every time they went out in public, in an effort to remain anonymous.

Scorpius took the man's other arm and they Disapparated. Albus was impressed. It wasn't just any wizard that could Side-along two people at once.

~~*~~O~~*~~

"Dad, where is Albus?" Lily demanded. "I've been looking for him everywhere and we're not playing Hide and Seek. James and Hugo don't know, either, and Rose just gave me that _look_ when I asked her. She's so _mean_."

Harry ruffled her hair, listening to Ron with half an ear as he argued with George about the legalities of a sweet that would turn people into pastries.

"What if someone becomes a fairy cake and gets _eaten_?" Ron demanded. "That would be murder."

George scoffed. "It's only murder if he administers the sweet to begin with. Otherwise it would simply be accidental."

"'Accidental,' he says. The paperwork alone would be brutal."

"I'm sure Albus is around somewhere. Did you check in the bedrooms?" Harry asked Lily.

"Dad. I already said I looked everywhere. He's not in the house. Or the garden. I looked there, too."

That caught Harry's attention. If Albus wasn't in the house or the garden, or with Rose, then where would he be? A sharp knife-edge of panic twisted in Harry's gut, even though he immediately tried to talk himself out of it.

"Where is Rose?"

"In the study, reading some dusty book, like always."

Harry hurried out of the room. Hermione appeared at his side almost at once. Her ability to sense his mood had not diminished with the years.

"What is it?" she asked when they reached the door to the study.

"Not sure. Hopefully nothing."

Rose was propped in a window seat with a book in her lap, looking so much like a younger version of Hermione that Harry fought back a wave of near-crushing nostalgia. She looked up when they entered and did not seem surprised to see them.

"Rose," Harry asked, "do you know where Albus is?"

"Not precisely," she replied.

The knife twisted again. "Then more generally? Can you tell me if he is within a mile of this very room?" Harry tried to keep his voice reasonable, remembering that he was dealing with a child, albeit a ridiculously intelligent one.

Rose sighed and shut her book with a snap. "Albus is in London."

"What?" Hermione's voice was a shocked whisper.

The knife morphed into a spike-headed mace, heavy and painful. "Alone?"

Rose nodded. "It's your fault, really. He was determined to meet with this mystery man, so he went to Trafalgar Square."

"Rose! How did he—? Why—?"

"How did he get there?" Harry asked, cursing himself for not casting a Tracking Charm on Albus. His children detested such an "invasion of privacy" and Harry only did so when they were out in public, just in case one of them was kidnapped or wandered off, or something. He hadn't expected to need it whilst at a Weasley gathering, for pity's sake.

"Public Floo at Bimsey's."

"I'll come with you," Hermione said.

"No, I'll need you to send me a Patronus in case he comes back. I don't want the others to worry. Keep an eye on Lily and James, will you?"

"Of course." Her grip on his arm was fierce, but quick. "You'll find him. Go. I'll stay here and deal with _my daughter_."

Rose went pale, but lifted her chin in a manner far too reminiscent of her mother. That one would have no remorse—she obviously believed she had done the right thing.

Harry tossed a handful of Floo Powder and went to London.

~~*~~O~~*~~

Trafalgar Square was bedlam. Muggles of every sort were stood on every bit of pavement, talking, laughing, and waiting for midnight. Harry should have asked Rose how long Albus had been gone; he tried to remember the last time he had seen Albus at the party.

He didn't dare cast a Tempus Charm in the midst of so many Muggles, but he figured it was close to 11:30. He fought his way through the crowd, trying not to be rude, but growing increasingly desperate to find Albus.

It seemed to take forever to reach the lions and frantic searching disclosed no dark-headed, wayward children.

"Albus!" he called, giving up any pretence of subtlety. "_Albus?_"

"Lose someone then, mate?"

"My son," Harry replied. "He's ten. About this tall—" He held up his hand. "He looks like me without glasses. Albus!" His shout was nearly drowned by the raucous laughter of a nearby group.

"I saw him a few minutes ago," a dark-haired girl said. Harry turned to her with his heart in his throat. She nodded at his unspoken question. "He was with a hot blonde bloke and a youngster that could have been his clone. Spittin' image, he was."

Harry swallowed, gripping his wand and wondering if utilising Legilimency amongst so many Muggles would result in time in Azkaban. "Where?"

"Boundary," the girl's companion said. "I heard him say Boundary. I remember because I had a date scheduled there last month, until the arsehole cancelled on me."

"Bloke was a complete minger, Darcy," the first girl said with a laugh.

"I know that now, don't I?"

They both laughed and Harry said, "Thank you! Thank you so much."

"Hope you find him!" one called as Harry turned away and tried to locate a safe place to Disapparate. Why would the man take Albus to a posh restaurant? It didn't make sense, but it was his only lead; hopefully the Muggles hadn't been drunk and confused, or deliberately misleading.

It only took minutes to locate a relatively secluded spot, cast a Disillusionment Charm, and Disapparate. Harry walked into the restaurant and scanned the seated patrons as the _maître d' _eyed him.

"May I help you, sir?"

The place was a rare establishment that catered to both Muggles and wizards. "I'm meeting someone in your back room," Harry said and let the tip of his wand handle slide from his sleeve. The man glanced at it and nodded.

"Charles, please escort Mr…?"

"Potter," Harry replied and barely refrained from shaking his fringe back from his forehead to expose his scar. Now was not the time to cause a scene, but if his fame would help him find Albus, then he would utilise it.

"Potter?" Charles repeated in a too-loud tone and Harry gave him a weak smile, hoping a scene would not be forthcoming. The _maître d' _stared at him through eyes gone wide. Charles recovered first. "Yes, sir, right this way, Mr Potter, sir."

The waiter turned and marched through the clustered tables, leading Harry past the Muggle diners to a palm-hidden passageway and an ornate set of doors.

"We are completely full tonight, Mr Potter," Charles said, "but I'm certain we can find a place for you if you'll only—"

"I am looking for a particular party," Harry interrupted. "If they are not here, I won't be staying. But thank you."

The wizarding section nearly mirrored the Muggle portion, with the same ornate stone alcoves and silver trays tacked to the walls as décor. Harry scanned the diners through an increasing difficulty to breathe—_not here, not here_—and then he spotted a tall, vaguely familiar blonde man. His eyes widened and then he noticed the man's two companions, a smaller blonde boy and… Albus.

"There they are," Harry said to Charles. "I'll just go join them, shall I?" He did not wait for the man's response as he strode across the room to confront the blonde kidnapper. Harry itched to throw a hex, but as he got closer he saw that Albus looked animated and seemed to be chattering happily while clutching a steaming mug in both hands. Whatever he was saying stuttered to a halt when he caught sight of Harry.

"Albus," Harry said tightly and then turned his attention to… Draco Malfoy. Harry's jaw gaped open and he later realised he most likely resembled a stuffed carp hung on a fisherman's wall. Words refused to surface for a long moment or two.

"Potter. How good of you to save me the trouble of tracking you down. Your diminutive likeness here is quite stubborn. I have no idea where he gets that quality, of course. He'll do well with a career in the Ministry." Draco indicated the chair opposite him and Harry dropped into it.

"Malfoy. You… Do you want to tell me what this is about?"

"I begin to wonder, myself. Here, have a drink of hot cider. It's excellent and you look half-frozen."

Harry took the mug and lifted it partway to his lips before remembering himself and lowering it back to the table. The amber liquid smelled divine, but trained Aurors did not go round accepting drinks from former Death Eaters who may or may not have kidnapped one of their children, regardless of how attractive said person might be.

"It isn't poisoned, Father," Albus grumped beside him.

Harry turned a stern gaze upon his wayward son. "You might want to remain silent lest I tack additional months onto the current very, _very_ large number of years you shall be without privileges."

Albus hunched low into his chair and flicked a glance at the blonde boy, who looked back at him with a sympathetic expression.

"I assume you know nothing about Albus' claim that he arranged this meeting in order to escort me to a party this evening?"

Harry shook his head.

Draco frowned. "Allow me to backtrack to the beginning, then. Do you recall a certain radio show that aired a few days before Christmas?"

Harry nodded.

"And was it not your voice on the radio, filled with such loneliness and woe that the hearts of every eligible maiden in wizardom were pierced to the core? Or was it only my son who was so smitten?"

"I… don't know what you mean." Harry admitted to himself that he might have followed the words better if he weren't so distracted by watching Malfoy's features as he spoke. The git hadn't been nearly this attractive in school. The years had been kind… hell, the years had tripped over themselves gifting Malfoy with stellar good looks. What had been pointy and sallow in boyhood had grown and softened into a wonder to behold.

"After the radio show, my son wrote you a letter," Draco was saying.

"Not just him," Albus piped up. "Lots of people. Dozens. We got owls for days."

"Owls for days," Draco repeated.

Harry flushed and opened his mouth, but Albus beat him to it. "But yours was the only one I liked!" His green eyes were turned on Draco, and then confusion crossed his features. "I mean… yours." He nodded at Scorpius.

"I had help writing it," Scorpius said without sounding the least contrite. In fact, his tone was only a gnat's shadow from smug.

"And then I wrote back," Albus said with a grin. "With help from Rose."

"There you have it. Scorpius wrote to you pretending to be me and Albus wrote back, pretending to be you. Now that everything is cleared up, we can go our separate ways and all will be well." Draco sounded matter-of-fact.

"You left out the part where you went to Harry's house," Scorpius said and took a drink of his cider.

Albus gasped and Harry blinked across the table at Draco, whose cheeks went an attractive shade of pink.

Scorpius nodded. "Yes. And he said you hated him because he broke your nose once, and maybe tried to kill you."

Harry stared from the younger Malfoy to the elder and back again. "I don't… hate him," Harry admitted. He glanced over and met Draco's surprised gaze. Merlin, but his eyes were beautiful. Ice-pale and intense, even though hooded and wary at the moment.

"You don't?"

"Of course not. I testified at your trial, if you'll remember. The war… well, it made people do horrible things in order to survive. I know that. You weren't exactly under an Imperius, but you weren't willingly brandishing a wand and joining your aunt in torturing Mug—" Harry broke off and tugged a hand through his hair, remembering the boys. He did not want to get sucked into a discussion of the war, regardless. "Anyway. I don't hate you. The broken nose was rather unpleasant, though."

"Indeed. Perhaps I can make it up to you," Draco said. His tone was teasing, flirtatious. Impulsively, Harry reached across the table and picked up Draco's cider. He took a long drink, eyes locked with Draco's.

"Father, may I show Albus the bubble chamber now? Please?"

Draco looked at his son, seeming just as out-of-his-element as Harry. "I… suppose. As long as his father allows it. Harry?"

Draco Malfoy speaking his given name gave Harry another flash of unreality; he began to wonder if he'd slipped into another universe. He returned the cider mug to the table. The cider was delicious. "Um. Yes?" Before he could register his own capitulation, he was seized in a hug launched at him by Albus.

"Yes! You're the best, Dad! Back in a few!" With that, Albus scooted his chair back, leaped to his feet, and fled with Scorpius Malfoy.

Harry thought about calling him back, remembering how he'd got here in the first place, but Draco's chuckle derailed the idea. "It's hard to punish them even when you know you should, isn't it?"

Harry grinned wryly, surprised anew to hear Draco commiserating the woes of parenthood. "I feel like the worst person alive when I see his expression. Lily gets angry and James shrugs it off, but Albus—bloody hell, I feel like I've been stabbed in the chest when I have to punish him. Honestly, how do people do it?"

Draco smiled again and he was even more handsome when he smiled. "You are asking the wrong person. Scorpius is so hopelessly spoiled he has barely received more than a cross frown in three years."

Harry laughed. "And yet, he seems very well-mannered and polite. And happy. You must be proud."

"I am. Scorpius is nothing like me." Draco paused and then snorted. "All right, perhaps he _is_ like me. But I was a nervous, angry child and Scorpius is… Well, he's brilliant." Draco took a drink of his cider, not meeting Harry's eyes, and Harry found himself wanting to get to know this mature version of Draco Malfoy.

"Did you really come to Selsey?"

Draco nearly choked on his drink and he set the mug aside. "Yes. Scorpius badgered me into it. I am… I have been… in a serious relationship for quite some time, but…"

Harry's sat up straight. A serious relationship. Of course he was. And yet… "But?"

"But… Perhaps everyone is right and I have been settling for ringing Quaffles instead of seeking the Snitch. By all accounts, William is completely wrong for me. I abandoned him at a party tonight."

"To come here?" Harry asked gently.

Draco nodded.

"Even though it's _me_ and you thought I hated you?" The very idea was mad. The two of them were like fire and ice. Or possibly yin and yang.

"Even though." Draco smirked and his grey eyes sparkled over the rim of his mug as he drank. Harry felt an answering smile quirk his lips. Maybe it wasn't so crazy, after all.

"Why?"

"Curiosity? Insanity? Do you think I should leave?"

"No," Harry said and let his smile grow. "I'm feeling a bit of curious insanity myself. I sort of want to know where it leads."

A throat-clearing sound made Harry look up to find Hermione Granger watching him with a not-pleased expression. The sparkle-laden skirt of her green gown looked incongruous beneath the puffy Muggle coat she had obviously donned in a hurry.

"Did you find Albus?" she asked, "or did you get sidetracked?"

Harry flushed. "Of course I found him. He's over there… with Scorpius." Harry gestured vaguely towards a glass-walled room filled with hundreds of floating bubbles, and a large number of children leaping around trying to catch them. To Harry's surprise, Albus was perched atop Scorpius Malfoy's shoulders, reaching for the higher bubbles. Both boys were laughing.

"I see. Thank you for sending a Patronus to let me know."

"I… forgot."

"Obviously. Hello, Draco." Her tone was polite, but cool.

"Hermione," Draco replied, surprising Harry anew. He had half-expected a sneered, "Granger" but apparently Draco really had grown up.

"How did you find me?" Harry asked.

"Well, you might be reluctant to keep Tracking Charms on your own children, but I have no such qualms about keeping one on _you_. Shall I take Albus back to the party?" She paused and then looked at Draco. "Scorpius is welcome to come along. You two can continue your…"

Harry turned a hopeful stare on Draco, who looked flummoxed. "I suppose that will be acceptable. If he wants to go, of course."

"I'll go ask him, shall I?" She hurried towards the bubble room and a moment later both boys tumbled out, looking even more excited. Scorpius ran back to the table, nearly colliding with a tray-laden waiter on the way.

"Father, may I really? May I go with Albus to his aunt's house to watch fireworks? Did you know his uncle owns Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? The fireworks must be _kedavra_! And look what Albus caught for me!" He opened his hand to disclose one of the bubbles, its gossamer-looking shell containing a tiny blue dragon made of cut glass.

The smile Draco bestowed upon his son melted every last misgiving Harry might have harboured. If nothing else, Draco adored his son. "That's very nice. And yes, you may go. I'll be along soon to fetch you. Be on your best behaviour and—"

Scorpius gave him a hug and cried, "Yes, Father, thank you, Father!" Then he bounded back to Albus, who lurked back with Hermione, probably still wary of Harry's wrath. Harry gave him a smile and thumbs-up and Albus grinned hugely and waved. The two boys went out with Hermione, leaving him alone with Draco. Well, with Draco and a room full of diners, some of whom were staring at them curiously.

"Your celebrity is showing." Draco's tone was dry, but amused.

"Yeah. You want to get out of here? Go for a walk, or something?"

"All right."

They made it outside with a minimum of fuss from the staff (_was everything satisfactory, sirs; we hope to see you again, sirs_) and Harry pulled at the collar of his shirt, wishing he had thought to at least grab a jacket before rushing off to London.

He felt a hand on his elbow, halting him, and then a warm, fleece-soft scarf was being wound around his neck, smelling of Draco's cologne. Harry breathed it in and gave him a grateful smile. A Warming Charm followed and then they were walking again.

The trees had been strung with green fairy lights—Muggle ones, as they were still in a Muggle neighbourhood—and they looked brilliant, almost magical.

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Can't have you freezing on our first date."

Harry's sudden warmth had nothing to do with the scarf or the Charm. "Is that what this is?"

Draco's glance was sidelong and wary. "Do you want it to be?"

"I think… Yeah. I think so."

Draco gave him a curt nod and the situation suddenly seemed too-formal and lacklustre. They were not exactly old men and for the first time in a very long while, Harry felt a spark of mischief.

They turned onto Camlet Street and Harry kept up with Draco's ground-eating walk. The buildings were all similar tall structures of brick with rows of windows—some lit, some decorated, and some dark—looking out upon the street, broken by occasional walls of unadorned brick.

Harry gripped Draco's arm, halting him, and stared into his surprised eyes for a moment. With a wicked grin, Harry backed him up against the flat wall and pressed himself along Draco's length. There was no resistance, and Draco felt exquisite, an intriguing mix of soft and hard. Harry wanted to seek out and memorise every inch of him.

Draco said nothing, not even when Harry leaned in and brushed his lips lightly over Draco's. His lips were cold, and tasted of spiced apple. Harry flicked his tongue against them, seeking another taste.

A hand slipped into Harry's hair and then his head was angled as Draco pulled him in. Their lips pressed together, awkwardly at first, and then finding a balance and fitting together perfectly. Mouths opened and their tongues sought, met, and slid together. Everything meshed, except Harry's senses, which seemed to be flying apart. How long had it been since he had kissed anyone? Even Ginny's kisses, before her illness, had grown perfunctory and rare.

There was nothing perfunctory about Draco. He was entirely present and seemed very much into taking everything Harry had to offer. As if the first few kisses had served as an appetiser, the next few grew hungrier, almost violent. Hands roamed over cloth, teasing, promising bliss if they could only reach bare skin.

Harry was shaking, a near-painful erection digging into Draco's groin, and he pulled out of the kiss as if fleeing a whirlpool. He panted, staring through askew spectacles into Draco's partially-blurred, but gorgeous face. He seemed just as shell-shocked as Harry.

"Merlin," Harry breathed, hyper-aware that he was still intimately pressed into Draco. He thought he could feel his heartbeat racing, but perhaps that was simply his own.

"That was… certainly not boring."

Harry laughed at Draco's words and the tension seemed to crack. A smile stretched Draco's lips and then he chuckled. Harry needed to kiss him again, so he did, but gently. A Muggle street was neither the proper time nor place for them to… explore one another.

Bells began to chime suddenly, some loud and some fainter, farther away. A window above them flung open and someone yelled, "Happy New Year!" A crackle of fireworks split the dark sky and car horns joined the din. More revellers shouted and the sounds of Auld Lang Syne drifted down to them.

The fairy lights gleamed upon Draco's hair and sparkled in his eyes. His breath fogged the cold air as he spoke, and added to the mist upon Harry's glasses. "Happy New Year, Harry Potter."

"Happy New Year, Draco Malfoy," he replied and the following kiss was the sweetest yet, laden with promise for the year to come.

~END (for now)~

Notes: This was supposed to be the end, but several things keep poking at me, so I'll probably plug a bit more into this one as time permits. Boundary is a real restaurant and looks like the sort of place wizards would go, and posh enough for Draco. I chose Selsey because it seems like the perfect place for Harry trying to escape whilst remaining close to the Weasleys. Harry's refusal to keep Tracking Charms on his children is loosely based on the time I threatened to put a GPS tracking chip on my six-year-old daughter and she was so horrified that people probably heard her shrieking for miles about "invasion of privacy" and silly concepts like that. I expect Harry's kids would put up similar arguments.


End file.
